Coming Home to the Four Streets by Nadine Dorries (books that read to you .txt) 📗

turned to face his wife’s puckered grey lips and fake orange cheeks. Her dyed black hair with its tight curls lay almost flat against her scalp.

‘Is it true, you gave that Peggy Nolan on Nelson Street milk? I know it is, so don’t try denying it. I’ve done the accounts today and there’s two pints missing and two ticks in Nelson Street not crossed and accounted for from last week.’

Eric sighed. He’d given Peggy the milk a few days ago and, of course, she hadn’t paid as she had promised and he’d done it in secret, without telling Maggie.

‘I thought you were off to your sister who lives on the Wirral?’ he said, attempting to change the subject.

‘Eric, we have been married for twenty-five years. Her name is Pauline. Why do you insist on calling her “your sister who lives on the Wirral”? Is it because it bothers you that she married a man who can keep her in a lifestyle I can only dream of?’

Gladys knew how to deliver maximum hurt in the fewest words possible to cut him down to size and leave him speechless. Pauline, the younger sister, had married Dennis, a bank clerk from Hoylake who, following the war when there was a general shortage of men, rose quickly through the ranks despite his mediocrity, to become manager at the Hoylake branch he had worked in before he was called up. Milkman, bank manager; Daisy, Austin Seven; detached house, end-terrace dairy. Pauline and Dennis lived on a tree-lined street that ran down to the shore while Eric and Gladys lived a stone’s throw from the docks and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t match the lifestyle of the bank manager.

With a glance at his wife, Eric lifted Daisy Bell’s water bucket, slipped back the bolt on the stable door and pushed it open, forcing Gladys to step backwards as he carried the bucket to the outside tap. He had intended to say, ‘Sorry, Gladys,’ as she stepped back, but instead he kept his mouth closed.

‘You stupid idiot, you almost knocked me over there. Close the stable door behind you,’ barked Gladys and banged the door shut, spooking Daisy Bell.

‘She’s not going anywhere while she’s eating her mash,’ said Eric, turning the tap full on to drown out her voice. But Gladys wasn’t going to let the subject of Peggy and the milk drop.

‘Well, did you? Did you give our hard-earned money away? She still owes us for eight pints and you know that.’

Eric took a deep breath; there was no point in his denying it. ‘Yes, I did, but she promised me I would be paid on the collection round and I just haven’t been able to catch her since.’

‘What a surprise. Well, on Friday, it won’t be you going, it will be me.’ She glared at her husband and Eric could see the thoughts running through her mind as clearly as if she had spoken them. Gladys would take huge delight in knocking on Peggy’s door and that delight would only be increased if Peggy couldn’t pay and had to ask for extra time.

‘Gladys, they don’t have a lot in that house. Don’t you be going and making a show of her, that won’t get you anywhere.’

Gladys was impervious to his pleas, as he knew she would be. ‘I didn’t come down with the last shower like you, Eric, so I’ll be doing the Nelson Street round this Friday.’

Eric’s heart sank. He felt on the edge of despair. ‘Gladys, you can’t get blood out of a stone. If she doesn’t have it, she doesn’t have it. Please leave it to me, Gladys. I’ll get it. Everyone always does with Peggy, eventually. She’s never had the bailiffs round, so she has that much to her credit.’

Gladys snorted in derision. ‘That was only thanks to Maura Doherty. Now she’s left, and mind, who could blame her – living next to that lot, it was only a matter of time. The Nolans probably drove the Dohertys away. They are the most notorious family around here, apart from Annie O’Prey and her thieves for sons, and you, soft lad, give out the free milk like it’s a charity we run here.’

‘The Dohertys left because they had a windfall, as you often observe, ’twas nothing to do with the Nolans,’ he said and, under his breath, ‘I’d be off meself if we had one. I would and that’s a fact.’ An image of himself and Daisy Bell, walking along a shore, leapt into his mind; the sun was shining and there was someone walking along beside him, he just couldn’t tell who.

‘Leave it to you to collect it? What will you do? Take a crate with you and give her another half a dozen for free? “Here you go, Peggy, take the bleedin’ lot, why don’t you, Peggy. Have it all, go on, take the horse too, Peggy, because I’m a flamin’ big eejit I am”.’

As Gladys mimicked his voice, Eric glanced away. Suddenly the familiar barbs from Gladys didn’t hurt or embarrass and that surprised him, because they had been doing just that for the past twenty-five years.

‘Well, not bloody likely! I’ll be dealing with that Peggy – and if she doesn’t pay, I’ll be getting the bailiffs onto her myself. No one takes me for a mug!’ She turned on her heel and marched back towards the house.

Eric sighed. Oh, no, no one ever does that, Gladys, he thought. They take you for many things, but never a mug. He tried one last time. ‘Please, please, leave Peggy to me. If she doesn’t pay, I’ll speak to Kathleen Deane; she keeps an eye out for Peggy since Maura left.’

Gladys loved the conversations when Eric pleaded with her best of all. It made him look weak and pathetic and wasn’t her life bad enough, having to live on the Dock Road? Could the straw she drew have been any shorter? Could her sister have done any better